


there ain't no rest for the wicked (until we close our eyes for good)

by honeyichor (bloodsparks)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Episode: s03e16 No Rest for the Wicked, First Kiss, M/M, Minor Violence, Panic Attacks, Sad Ending, Truth Spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 22:32:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12969807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsparks/pseuds/honeyichor
Summary: In the week before they die, a person cannot tell a lie or omit information.





	there ain't no rest for the wicked (until we close our eyes for good)

**Author's Note:**

> based on a prompt by writing-prompt-s on tumblr!

It begins harmlessly enough. 

They’re on a hunt in Texas, tracking down what Sam believes to be a werewolf gone rogue. Hearts ripped out, bite and claw marks along the sides of the victims’ abdomens, and the body dumped carelessly. It fits, Sam thinks, but when they interview the families, it’s revealed that all three men had been having paranoid fits the few days before their deaths.

“Hellhound, you think?” Dean’s face is a couple shades paler than usual as they step out of the house and to the street where the car is parked. 

Sam doesn’t comment, just shrugs with his lips pursed. It’s a look Dean is starting to get used to seeing, especially when it comes to mentions of anything related to _downstairs_.

“Whatever’s going on here, I don’t care. I just want my damn lunch.” Dean’s voice is too loud, and nearby pedestrians turn to stare with disapproving looks. 

“Dude,” Sam hisses, “You can’t just yell shit like that.” 

Dean looks equally as confused. “I know,” he frowns. “That wasn’t me talking. I mean it was me, it came out of my mouth, but it wasn’t _me_ , me.” 

Sam snorts. “It was you alright,” he confirms as Dean’s stomach gives a loud rumble, “Let’s go get you some food.” 

 

* * *

The second time it happens, they’re browsing the web for cases to work on, having killed the werewolf that Sam was right about the day before.

“There’s something an hour away; haunted dolls in a museum.” Sam looks up to his brother for his thoughts, and is faced with a very unamused Dean.

“This isn’t _Toy Story_ , Sam, and I ain’t Buzz Lightyear. Next.” 

It doesn’t necessarily strike Sam as odd or out of character, but Dean isn’t usually this grumpy and brash unless he’s been drinking, and it’s only ten thirty in the morning. “Okay,” he says, deciding not to push it, “There’s something else up in Cali-“

“Unless it’s Paris Hilton’s bedroom, I don’t want in.” 

Again, it comes as a surprise to both of them, and Dean’s puzzled expression sends a wave of utter bewilderment through Sam. 

“What-“

“I don’t freaking know, Sam,” Dean snaps, “You think I wanna be mouthing off like some second-hand chatterbox champion?!” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he stomps his foot in frustration. “God _fucking_ dammit, what the fuck is this?” 

Sam shuts his laptop slowly, torn between being amused and very worried. “Looks like we might have a case here in itself,” he murmurs. “You piss off any witches lately?” 

Dean stares blankly at him. 

“If this isn’t a curse or spell of some sort, what do you suppose it is?”

Shrugging, Dean slumps into the chair opposite Sam. “Whatever the fuck it is, it’s going to ruin me. I’m not gonna be able to get drunk or have sex with anyone while I’m like this.” 

“ _That_ ’s what you’re worried about?” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s another two days of hilarity for Sam and misery for Dean before they find a possible lead on whatever’s making Dean act the way he is. It isn’t pretty.

Sam stops dead in his movements, sitting frozen in front of his laptop while Dean wolfs down his breakfast opposite him. Dean notices Sam’s change in demeanour immediately, and puts his bacon pancakes aside. 

“What is it?” He asks, “What did you see? I’m freaking out because you don’t normally get affected by whatever’s going on, and if you’re worried then I’m super worried.” He blurts everything in one breath, swearing when he’s done. 

Sam shakes his head, glad the curse isn’t on him. “It’s nothing,” he lies, “Just a headache from the coffee.” 

“If you think I can’t tell when you’re bullshitting me, you’re wrong. I can tell your lies really easily, Sam, you’ve got a million tells. Like, there’s thing you do, and _fuck,_ I need to stop talking. Shit.” Dean’s face is flushed, and he looks at Sam with an almost pleading expression. “What did you find? You need to talk so I can’t keep talking.” 

Hesitating, Sam nods. “I think I found what’s making you go off like this. It’s a, uh, it’s a type of weird phenomenon.” 

“So I _didn’t_ piss off any witches,” Dean grins like he’s proud of himself.

“No, you didn’t,” Sam agrees, taking a deep breath, “This isn’t common, it’s only been recorded a couple times, but basically it’s… A week before you, um, before you go,” he pauses to wince, “You can’t lie or not say what you’re thinking.” 

“Go?” Dean looks confused before he puts the puzzle pieces together and nods solemnly. “Right, downstairs,” he says softly. 

Sam shifts uncomfortably. “I can’t- I don’t think there’s a ‘cure.’”

Dean scoffs at that. “There’s always a cure, Sam.”

“Right,” Sam says hesitantly. “But this isn’t something common, or anything we’ve dealt with before. It’s not anything to do with some pissed off deity, it’s a hex-related thing.” 

“Hex - so there’s some kind of hex bag? Something physical we can get rid of?” 

Sam only looks more uncomfortable by the minute. “No,” he says slowly. “I don’t think… We’ll keep a look out for anything, okay? I’ll keep reading up on it.” 

That’s Sam-speak for ‘this is fucked’, and Dean knows it. He nods anyway. “So, tell me about this thing in California.” 

 

* * *

 

They’ve gotten rid of the ghoul that was terrorising a couple of hospital rooms, and are recuperating in the motel when Dean speaks up after having been silent for most of the job.

“Hey, Sammy?” His voice is strained, but Sam chalks it up to the intensity of the night.

“Yeah.”

“Take care of yourself, you hear me? Don’t get stupid. Don’t… Don’t let your guard down, and for fuck’s sake, don’t be reckless,” Dean snaps, looking straight at Sam. 

“Dean…” Sam sighs, putting down the gun he’s cleaning. “Don’t talk like that.” 

“Like what?” Dean’s voice is angry, “Like I’m gonna die soon? Because, newsflash, Sam, I am! We’ve got less than four days to fix things, and we’re nowhere near to finding Lilith and breaking the deal.” 

“We’ll find her-“

“I don’t want to find her,” Dean argues, and Sam stops. 

“What?”

“You heard me, Sammy. I don't want to stop this. You know about what the demon said; if we try to pull this off and fuck with the deal, you drop dead. And I’m not having that.” 

Sam pauses, his face contorting in confusion and hurt. “But Dean, you… You don’t want this for yourself. _I_ don’t want this for you.”

Dean laughs bitterly. “I don’t want this for me, either. Those fuckin’ hounds are shredders.” He stops, flinching at his own thoughts, “But I’d take a hundred of those bitches before letting anything come for you.”

 

* * *

 

They have one day left, and the last of Dean’s hope is sizzling out like a worn down fire. 

The last case they’d taken brought them close to Sioux Falls, so they’d decided to meet with Bobby after settling it. He’d welcomed them in with a beer and a grim smile, and they’d accepted wearily. 

“Any plans for tomorrow?” Bobby asks, taking another gulp of his whiskey. 

Dean smirks, but the humorous spark in his eyes is missing. “Besides getting completely and utterly annihilated?” 

Sam winces and trades his beer for a shot glass. Bobby refuses to fill it. 

“Lilith is in Indiana,” Bobby says after a while. 

Both the boys look up immediately. Sam asks how he knows exactly as Dean murmurs that it doesn’t matter. 

Bobby ignores them both and continues. “We have a chance at gettin’ rid of her.

“Like _fuck_ we do,” Dean snarls, standing up and pointing at the other two men in the room. “Just because I signed up for this shit doesn’t mean you go planning a suicide mission. We’re not tracking Lilith down.” 

Sam springs up out of his seat. “You’re not the only one who has a say in this, Dean.”

“Yeah, I am!” Dean yells, slamming his hand down on the table so hard the bottles shake. “Maybe I’m not a fan of how I’m gonna go out, but it’s fine by me that this is the end of the road. I’m not supposed to be here, Bobby! Or did Sam not tell you about what Dad did? How he made that deal with Azazel for some godforsaken reason to bring me back. At least this way something good’s coming out of it, y’know?” 

Before Sam can protest further, Dean turns to him. “You could go back to college, Sam,” Dean pleads, eyes wide and a maddened expression on his face. “Leave all of this, like you wanted. I dragged you into this mess, and I’m the key out of it.” 

“Son-“ Bobby tries to intervene. 

“Don’t bullshit me, Bobby,” Dean snaps, “I know how much of a burden I am. I’ve carried my weight and ten times over, and I’m sick and I’m tired.” Before either one of them can reply, Dean snatches his bottle and leaves the room. 

 

* * *

 

 

Against every single one of Dean’s wishes, they do go to New Harmony, Indiana.

Sam and Dean take the Impala, and Bobby follows in his pickup truck. They’re about three-quarters done with the drive when sirens go off behind them and a police light flashes in the rearview mirror. It passes Bobby’s car and stops directly behind the Impala, and Sam readies a gun beneath his jacket just in case. 

“Your tail light’s busted,” the officer says in a monotone voice as he taps on the window. 

Dean doesn’t roll down the window, and Sam frowns. Before he can ask what’s wrong, Dean is leaping out of the car and jamming Ruby’s knife into the police officer’s neck. Orange sparks fly amid the blood gushing down his uniform. Dean twists the knife, shoving it further into the officer’s jaw. The demon groans before falling to the ground, dead. 

Sam is incredulous. “H-How did you…?” 

Dean is shaking as he looks at Sam, wide-eyed and scared. He motions to his face, swallowing and trembling. “I could see his, uh, face. His real face.” 

“What?” Sam’s mouth falls open a little, and he consciously shuts it and composes himself for Dean’s sake.

“Yeah,” Dean confirms, getting a flask from the glove compartment and draining half of its contents. “Wasn’t pretty, that’s for sure,” he laughs gingerly. “It was all twisted and gnarled, like fuckin’ tree roots growing from his face, and his teeth were everywhere, I couldn’t- fuck, Sam, I can’t do this.”

Sam realises what’s happening as Dean’s knees buckle and he slides down to the ground against the car. “Hey, hey,” Sam says softly, grabbing Dean’s arms and holding him tight. He’s trying to ground him; to give him something real to hold onto. 

By now Bobby’s out of his own car and has come over, worry etched all over his face. “What’s happening?” 

“Panic attack,” Sam explains briefly as he holds Dean close to his chest and curls his hands into the rough canvas of Dean’s jacket. “Dean, listen to me, you’re safe,” Sam whispers. 

Dean shakes his head. “Not safe,” the words are so soft Sam has to strain to hear them, “Not safe now, not safe, not safe, I couldn’t save you.”

Sam feels his heart cave into itself. Dean is on the edge of the cliff and he still isn’t worried for himself. “You did, Dean,” Sam assures him, and he realises belatedly that he’s crying. 

“I won’t be there,” Dean swallows the lump in his throat that doesn’t seem to ever leave, “Won’t be able to keep you safe, you’re not safe, not safe, _I’m not safe_.”

Sam doesn’t know what to do until he feels Dean’s hands coming to rest on his shoulders, his thumbs brushing over Sam’s cheeks. “Dean?” Sam asks softly, trying to gauge the situation and see what more he can do. 

“Please,” Dean says, and leans forward. 

Sam doesn’t get it at first - mostly because he wouldn’t allow himself to consider the possibility. “What is it, Dean?”

“Don’t hold back,” Dean replies, a small sad smile on his face. “We ain’t got much time, Sam. Might as well do it now.” When Sam makes no further move, frozen, Dean rolls his eyes and leans forward, pressing a small kiss to Sam’s lips. 

In that moment, they’re all that exist. The demon deal made carelessly a year ago fades, Bobby’s presence dims like a candle going out, and there is nothing more important than Dean to Sam, and Sam to Dean. 

Sam surges forward, curling his fingers in the back of Dean’s hair. He kisses Dean slowly at first, but his desperation takes over and he deepens the kiss hastily. 

Dean makes a small sound of surprise, but Sam can feel him smiling against his lips. 

When they pull apart, they notice that Bobby’s gone back to his car, likely to give them some privacy, and the skies are painted with a brilliant sunset. All the colours of the world wouldn’t do justice to the wonder above them. Sam thinks it’s the sky saying its last thank you; its last goodbye to Dean. 

Sam nudges Dean to look up, and they stay there on the gravel until the colours fade and a blue tint takes over, signalling the start of the night. 

“C’mon,” Dean says, and his voice is resigned. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

They get to New Harmony just as the sun’s finished setting, and the neighbourhood is shaded in dark colours that seem to aid the movement of unseen shadows that surround them.

“This is a bad idea,” Dean mutters for the thousandth time since they’d gotten in their cars and continued the drive. “This is a _bad fucking idea_.” 

“Only if you don’t zip it, princess,” Bobby grumbles. 

Sam wants to laugh, but he also really wants to vomit. It’s sickening, how close they are to midnight: how close _Dean_ is to midnight. He brushes his thoughts aside and grabs more ammo, and then they crouch in the bushes and try to devise a plan.

“There’s demons on every house,” Sam whispers, squinting in the darkness and noting a person - or rather, what’s left of one - standing on each front porch. 

“They’d have seen us drive in,” Bobby frowns, “Ain’t makin’ sense that they’re not doing a thing about it, though.” 

Dean shakes his head. “They won’t do anything but tell Lilith we’re here - which they’re probably done already. We don’t have a fighting chance.” 

Sam hates how utterly defeated Dean is, from the tone of his voice to the slump of his shoulders to the way he isn’t holding a single weapon despite being literally surrounded by dozens upon dozens of demons. 

“We won’t know until we find the bitch,” Sam replies curtly, standing and turning toward the only house in the cul-de-sac to not have a demon on its front porch. 

At least twenty pairs of black eyes follow them as they enter the house. 

 

* * *

 

“Fuckin’ Christ, you’re an ugly son of a bitch, you know that?” Dean frowns at Lilith. It doesn’t help that she’s in the body of a little blonde girl, and her horns and rows upon rows of blood and scarred flesh seem to be overflowing and dragging on the floor. “I wish I couldn’t see what you assholes really looked like; it’s doing a number on my eyes.”

The little girl smiles a sickening grin and folds her arms over her chest. “There’s three of you and one of me - and I’m just a girl! Whatever am I going to do?” Her voice is a mocking pout that doesn’t at all match the wicked expression on her innocent face.

“Get fucked, hopefully,” Dean growls and charges, thrusting the knife at the girl without success as the knife is flicked out of his hand and he’s thrown against the nearest wall. 

“Dean!” Sam yells, heading toward him before he’s stopped in his tracks and held in place by a force nobody can see. 

Bobby fires a shot that hits perfectly. Blood begins to pour from the wound, creating a ghastly, gory mess on the front of Lilith’s white rose dress. “I liked this dress,” she sulks, twisting her hand and doing something that causes Bobby to cry out in pain before collapsing, unconscious against the wall. 

Lilith giggles. “Did you brave little musketeers honestly think you’d come in here, weapons ablaze, and knock me down like chess pieces?” 

Neither Dean nor Sam are paying attention to her words; their gazes are focused on one another, each trying desperately to make sure the other is all right. 

Frustrated, Lilith stands between them. “It’s no fun if you play with your food and your food doesn’t play back,” she whines.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Dean spits through gritted teeth. “Actually - I’m not.”

“Ever the charmer,” Lilith smiles pointedly at him, curling her hand into a fist and watching with satisfaction as thick scratches appear down the front of Dean’s chest, tearing his shirt and causing blood to spurt out. 

Dean yells, closing his eyes tight and clenching his fists. “Fuck,” he whimpers, chest heaving as the sharp pain fades into a sting. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Lilith smirks, “That’s just a taste of what my little puppies are gonna do to you, Dean. I’m sure you’ll love it.” 

“You bitch,” Sam hisses, having pulled out his gun in the time that Lilith was distracted with Dean. He fires three rounds, and though all land their target, it does nothing but amuse Lilith. 

Dean shudders as he watches her with hooded eyes. She’s even more terrifying now, with four bullet holes in her chest and upper body and no sign of slowing down. 

“Sam Winchester,” Lilith hums as she walks to him, cradling his face with her small hands. “Azazel’s prodigy. I didn't think you’d be this foolish.” 

“You’re the foolish one for thinking you’d get away with this,” Sam bares his teeth, flinching away from her touch and thinking through all the ways he could get them out of the mess they were in. 

Sighing, Lilith takes a step back from him. “I was going to kill you first, Sam, but now I think I have a better idea.” Her eyes glimmer in a way that means nothing but horror. 

She whistles just as the clock downstairs begins to chime ominously. The front door bursts open and a cold air rushes in. Dean screams. 

“Dean! What is it?” Sam shouts, looking back and forth between the door and his brother and still seeing absolutely nothing. 

Dean’s stopped screaming, but he’s shaking and looking more terrified than Sam’s ever seen him. “Hounds,” he finally manages, “Three of them by the door. Fuck! _Fuck!_ ” 

Sam fires blindly in the direction of the door, hearing whimpers and seeing black blood begin to leak from thin air. He knows he’s hit them when he feels them begin to rush at him, and he thinks it’s over until Lilith whistles again. 

“He’s not your target, boys,” she scolds the Hellhounds, and they growl in response. “Yes, you can take out your anger on that one.” Lilith points at Dean, still held firm and helpless against the wall.

Realisation hits Sam like cold water or a hard brick wall. “No!” He protests, horrified that he’s made things worse for Dean without knowing. “No, please, take it out on me, not him,” he begs, and Lilith frowns.

“Now, now, Sam,” she tuts, unimpressed. “Begging doesn’t make for a good King.”

“I’m not your goddamn King,” he says with a snarl. 

Lilith smiles. “That’s right. You aren’t.” She turns to the hounds who wait with bated breath. “Sic him, boys.” 

Sam yells the same time Dean starts to scream. 

The sounds of teeth ripping through flesh and bone fill the room, and the heavy, thick scent of blood blankets them all. Sam is on his knees, sobbing and fighting with all his will against the force holding him back. 

Eventually, the hounds finish their task and run back into the night. Sam feels numb as he crawls to where Dean lies, eyes glassy and unfocused. Before he can reach for his brother, he feels a cool kiss on his cheek. 

Sam looks up, tears in his eyes, to see Lilith standing beside him with a look of pure victory on her face. “ _Felix dies_ ,” she whispers, and then she’s gone. 

Without wasting any more time, Sam pulls Dean onto his lap, cradling his broken body and shaking his head. He’d gone over the scene so many times in his imagination, but nothing had ever prepared him for how utterly powerless he’d feel. 

“Dean,” Sam murmurs, closing his brother’s eyes, “I’m sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen, I was supposed to take care of you.” 

He sits in silence for a minute or so before the unexpected happens. Dean coughs, his eyelids fluttering like he’s trying unsuccessfully to open them. 

“Dean? Dean, _shit,_ I’m here,” Sam says quickly, squeezing Dean’s hand. “I could take you to the hospital, get you patched up, _shit,_ I’ll get you to the car.” 

Dean laughs a small throaty cough that bubbles in his throat more than it should. “Not… Gonna make ’t there…” 

Sam is still trying to move them when Dean tugs harshly on his shirt, using what little is left of his strength. “Sam, l-listen,” he begs, eyes shut tight in concentration. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Dean, you know I do.” Sam cries harder, cradling Dean in his lap. 

The corners of Dean’s mouth perk into a flirtatious smile. Sam would later marvel at how he kept it together until the very end. “Don’t get it, Sammy,” Dean coughs more, and blood spills from his lips. His teeth are stained red as he smiles. “I _love_ you. Always h-have. Always… w…” 

Sam watches the strength fade from Dean’s hand. He watches him go lax, watches his chest stop rising and falling. In that moment, Sam feels half of himself stop. 

“I always will, too, Dean,” he says softly, like a prayer. 

**Author's Note:**

> 'felix dies' means happy day


End file.
